


I am not Ashamed of What I did for a Klondike Bar

by MorpheusEnMemori (Its_Darling)



Series: Transition [4]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Demo/Spy if you squint, Drinking, Gen, NSFW themes, No Sex, Trans Male Character, Trans!Spy, but more likely Demo/Sniper, packers, this is technically a coming out story, trans!Sniper, with loads of drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-16 22:54:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11262708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Its_Darling/pseuds/MorpheusEnMemori
Summary: Also known as "Geek Trivia Names"A self indulgent fic about drinking, packers, and Demo-is-not-just-a-drunk-kthx."You always learn something from drunk people, but bloody hell..."Demo is gonna regret watching a drunken Spy mention tidbits about his life, but the Snake needed to loosen up. That, and Scout offered a Klondike bar as payment for getting Spy to loosen up.





	1. The Drinking

**Author's Note:**

> Very loosely based on me coming out when I was drunk af with friends I trusted.  
> If you think I was gonna make good title names, you have not seen what I've titled everything.  
> this happens before The Refrigerator Incident.

                In all his tenure under Builders League United, Fearghas knew the one thing he had to put up with was being the butt of every joke. Him and Solly dealt with interesting problems, Solly being a couple screws gone, and him… Fearghas, best damned Demoman America has seen ( ~~Tavish can suck on ice chips for all he cares~~ ), nothing more than a drunk?  
                You learn a lot of things from drunk people. There’s something to be said about people who are willing to lower their walls, have a nice drink with a friend or coworker, and talk about anything.

                He’s seen Heavy cry over his sisters and mother, worried that he left them in a horrid situation while he was trying to earn money. For them. Demo made sure to explain he had a similar reason for being here, all to help his blind mom before he ended up losing his other eye. The two forged an agreement, both of them brokering a respect that many noticed.  
                Engineer releases a great deal of stress, admitting he’s got awful habits, and thinks he’s a bit of a monster for enjoying this war far too much. Took a while to calm him down, and the topic never came up again.  
                The calm exterior, holding in a horror that threatens to explode in a wave of fire, Pyro… They’re excellent drinking partners. Only, fire and alcohol don’t mix. So once every so often, Pyro will drink with Demo, and speak little bits about home. Or Pyroland. Demo has yet to determine if Pyroland is made up in their mind or if there’s more to it than that.  
                Medic was not much for drinking, but when he foregone the usual ‘drinking is bad for your health’ persona, he’s not all that different. A little more on edge, some might describe it as eccentric, but Medic’s stories don’t change all that much. At least he’s always honest.  
                Solly’s a great drinking partner, though finding out what sort of ‘stuff that kinda works like alcohol, that I call alcohol, but you and I both know it’s not alcohol on some level’ raccoons will drink… Well, Demo’s not quite sorry, considering all the research he put into it.  
                Scout is always searching for a drink. Wants to fit in with all the adults. In private, he’s a lot more willing to admit he likes the girlier drinks, because it tastes better. Demo couldn’t even argue all that much, admitting that there are times he admits that he wants something with a little flavor. And introduces Scout to mixed drinks, often deferring to more ‘masculine’ types like a Moscow Mule. There were still arguments on if a Martini was a guy’s or a girl’s drink. People asked Spy, who only said ‘yes.’

                The two that were not typical drunks happened to be Spy and Sniper.  
                Okay, not quite true.  
                Sniper and Spy enjoyed wine, and both could drink anything given to them. Added on the fact that Sniper has a home brew moonshine (both Snipers did, though there was a variation in the flavors, least that’s what Lawrence said about RED). Spy had a thing for gin when it came to heavier stuff.  
                Demo had a sinking suspicion that the reason those two were not social drinks related to their sleeping habits. Sniper fell asleep… anywhere. Running joke was that Lawrence doesn’t sleep in a bed, especially not his own. And waking him up required a certain kind of finesse if it had to be done quickly. Demo would throw a pillow in his face and watch the sudden explosion of feathers when Sniper would stab it with his kukri. Not the worst thing that’s been thrown at the man (damned Scout needs to stop throwing his Bonk! drinks).  
                Spy? Demo never saw the man sleep. Had his own room and smoking room, and Demo has never seen the man crashed in bed or in awkward positions. No matter how late at night it was, Demo would catch Spy awake, and never without most of his suit. He downright thought it _scandalous_ to find the Spy without his blazer once (okay, he was drunker than usual, it was a Spy word, and bastard thought it was funny).

                But, those together? Demo knew the reasons why people didn’t drink, at least not to the point of true drunkenness. Out of all the men to have PTSD, made sense those two did (as did a few other mercs, though to different degrees). He extended a hand out to Sniper during a particularly bad ‘rude awakening spell,’ when everyone was in the same room, saying that he was always willing to listen to anyone’s problems.  
                Sniper has yet to take it.

                Today, the Spy has.

                It was a strange day to begin with. Demo got his alcohol shipment, and the entire stash was Asian alcohols. He loved trying new vintages, and was certainly favoring a fruit ‘slush’ soju as a suggestion from his mum. He almost thought he gotten two boxes, given a second, nearly equal in size one that came in. Nope, turned out the Snake gotten a shipment. Didn’t seem all that pleased with it, but he managed to get it in a room.  
                Of course, Scout saw this interaction. He happened to get a liquid nitrogen shipment full of ice cream bars. Mentioned something about how the Spy needed to loosen up.

                “Hey Demo, think you could convince him? I’ll give you a Klondike bar.”

                Demo stated he didn’t need ice cream to motivate him.  
                Truth was, he’d do it for free. He wanted to know more about his coworker, considering the man does nothing but keep to himself.

                Until. Today.

                The man’s already drunk, a reddish stain on his blazer. Smelled like one of his wines, something with a made up title because the Snake gets it made for him by some agency in Europe. Well, that’s Demo’s guess, he could never find those vintages when he looked…

                “Fearghas?” Spy asks.

                Sounded drunk too. Demo set his soju slush down, looking at the Snake critically. The man cautiously approaches, taking a seat at the table. Most everyone’s already asleep, or doing something or other, leaving the kitchen for Demo… well, now him and the Spy.

                “Ye alright?” Demo asks.

                “Fine. A little inebriated, but… nothing’s more depressing than getting drunk alone.” Spy says, “And recalled your offer you made the team.”

                “Aye. Said anyone was free to join, though pardon me for saying you’re usually a cunt.” Demo says.

                Spy always took a strange offense to the term, given the sort of slurs that would come out of his mouth in French. Demo may not understand French at a conversational level, but he knew what a ‘putain’ is. For whatever reason, Spy ignores it, and starts looking at the bottles that Demo has spread about the table.  
                He opens the bottle of sake and pours a small glass.

                “That’ll put you on your arse if you’ve never had it before.” Demo warns.

                “I’ve had Asian alcohol. A friend of mine, an eccentric friend… he sent soju, once.” Spy says.

                Well, main problem was soju is not sake, though Demo was more impressed that he saw Spy search around for beer.  
                Ah, sake bomb. Demo didn’t really have the stomach for it, you had to drink the damned thing far too quick for his tastes. But the fact that the Spy was making it, the epitome of pompous European ideals…

                “Why a sake bomb?” Demo asks.

                “Is it because I’m French?” Spy asks.

                “You know, half the team wonders if you are actually French.” Demo says.

                “I am. The RED Spy, however, is Cajun.” Spy says.

                Cajun? The other pompous European isn’t European, but American? Considering the assortment of insults the Spies parrot, it’s stranger knowing the RED Spy’s about as far south as the Texan Engineers. Demo waits for Spy to finish setting up his drink, watching him drop the cup of sake in the beer, and witnesses just how familiar Spy was with the drink.  
                Until the burn set in and Spy was coughing a few moments later.

                “That is… not soju.” Spy says.

                “I did ask why you were making a sake bomb.” Demo says.

                Despite the mask he wears, Demo saw the sheepish look Spy had, when he realized he made an improper assumption.

                “I thought you said sake bomb over saying _poktanju_.” Spy says.

                “Aye, wouldn’t call it that. But I’d have enough sense to call it a soju bomb.” Demo says.

                “I ah. _Deso_ \- I’m sorry.” Spy says.

                Demo shrugs, taking a spoon to fiddle around with his ‘slush’ though he figured there was no more drinking for him. Not tonight, not when he’s probably going to hear an assortment of things from the Snake. It’s already gotten interesting. Spy? Apologizing, and even correcting it to English?  
                It’s a Smissmas miracle in summer. Spy being drunk is a bonus.

                “What’s on your mind lad?” he asks.

                “A great deal.” Spy says.

                Demo did not miss the seeping sarcasm, seeing the man take the rest of the bottle of sake, and seems set on nursing it for the rest of the night. Normally, Demo would convince the other to stop, but Spy’s returned to having a tense appearance. Shoulders far too strait, arms close in of himself, and fingers twitching. Eh, man’s a smoker, Demo half expected him to indulge himself.

                “I smoked all my cigarettes. My next shipment comes in tomorrow.” Spy says.

                “You don’t even have stuff you hide from yourself?” Demo asks.

                “Funny, I found them water damaged. A pipe was leaking and knew nothing of it.” Spy says.

                He’s laughing at the irony of it, probably. Bit of a pity, given what kind of expensive smokes he gets for himself. Once, Spy complained about a sudden tariff increase. When he gave the percentage, even Demo found himself sympathizing, as did Heavy and the Medic. Sniper casually mentioned he can’t seem to get much shipped to him, strange Australian export laws preventing it, no matter how much Sniper could afford. That was a real pity…

                “I thought there would be more… drinking.” Spy says.

                “Aye. Usually. But not when I ain’t quite sure you want to off yourself with alcohol.” Demo says.

                Spy smirks at this, laying his hand flat on the table and brings out his butterfly knife. Demo takes a sip of his drink, watching Spy play the Knife Game. The Australian variant.  
                Lawrence plays it on occasion, and mentioned the kind of variants that were around. The Australian one... Well, Engineer threw around the word ‘kaddywumpus’ to describe it.

                “Does this prove I have some control of my motor skills?” Spy asks.

                “No. It proves you’re drunk.” Demo says.

                There’s a couple moments of silence, then the two laugh as though it’s the greatest joke they’ve heard in a long while. Probably was: Spy proving to Demo that he was not drunk by stabbing between his fingers. No one was going to believe Demo in the morning. Spy snorts a couple more times, relaxing into the seat and eases himself out of the stained blazer.

                “Fine, I am drunk.” Spy says, “No one believing you is the best part.”

                “Lad, just saying you weren’t a cunt like you usually are is enough for everyone think I imagined it.” Demo says.

                “Well, no denying what I have!” Spy says.

                What.  
                There’s being drunk, knowing the words swap around in the mind as you’re attempting to figure out what the person said. Demo knows what he heard. That was precise. Added onto how Spy casually takes a sip of the sake… with a goddamned smirk.

                “What the bloody hell.” Demo says.

                “I believe I stated it plainly.” Spy says, “But, if you need proof.”

                What he was not expecting was for Spy to unzip his slacks. Nor to pull out a flaccid dick, and toss it onto the table with his typical nonchalant nature. Actually looked quite impressive, almost seemed real. Demo drinks the rest of the slush, figuring he earned that drink.  
                He wanted to learn about the Snake, he didn’t quite expect a massive secret.

                “That why you testy when people use language for lasses?” Demo asks.

                “Partially.” Spy says, “I cannot appear… too offended. Part of why I started saying ‘putain.’ Dismisses me as a hypocrite, but it did work for some.”

                Also helped that the Pyro took a similar offense, and Sniper of all people.  
                Ah bloody hell.

                “I know Pyro told everyone that they liked everyone to say ‘they’ and all.” Demo starts, “but Sniper’s got similar reserves on calling everyone lasses’ terms.”

                Spy could only shrug, appearing as uncertain as Demo did. Wasn’t much point in asking, the man would deny being…

                “What the hell is this called?” Demo asks.

                “Pardon?” Spy asks.

                “You’re one of those… transvestites?” Demo asks.

                Spy was ready to take another sip, though he sets his cup back down, having his trademark scowl. He inhales deeply, Demo almost thought the man was ready to curse him out. Or break the glass over his head. Somehow, the Snake manages to keep his tone even and polite.

                “ _Non_. I am a man. I do not dress like a man for the fun of it. I dress like a man because I am one.” Spy says.

                “I more o’ mean if that’s the term you use.” Demo says, “Sounds like that ain’t it.”

                Spy’s earlier irritation deflates instantly, relaxing into the seat as he seems ready to laugh over the matter. Probably gets stuff like this all the time, when he decided to tell people.

                “Oh.” Spy says, “Transsexual or transgender. Those are the terms I am fine with.”

                A moment of silence, either for Demo to process the new information, or Spy to figure out his question. Demo figured there had to be a distinction between transsexual and transgender, though he doubted this was the time for what was probably a semantics discussion.

                “Where did you hear the term transvestite described for people like me?” Spy asks.

                “Me cousin. He’s one.” Demo says.

                Spy chuckles, a sliver of amusement creeping on his face.

                “I only ask because people are misinformed. Perhaps that is what your cousin is, someone who dresses as the opposite gender just for, but he explained it poorly.” Spy says.

                And with that, Spy lounges in his chair, drinking with more gusto that Demo half thought this was a competition. He joins, but not with the passion the Spy had. It served in his favor.

                Spy came from France. Wouldn’t be specific as to where: Normandy, Marseille, Fontainebleau… “Stomping grounds” was what Spy called them.  
                Lived in an assortment of areas during Cold War era, stated his favorite places was ‘Le Zanzibar’ and ‘Arcadie,’ known ‘homophile’ organizations and clubs.  
                His favorite historical figure? Chevalier d'Éon. A trans woman, known for her espionage work. Spy lamented for a half hour on how historians misinterpret her as being ‘confused’ or ‘still a man, given her prior work in the Russian Empire as a man.’

                “Well, she lived as a man for a long while…” Demo says.

                “Yes, and historians keep imagining the world in terms of… _Merde_. What did my friend call it?” Spy says, “He said… something about how it was all the old European men.”

                Vague mentions of the friend again. Spy always seemed to avoid him, or her, he changed pronouns on a whim. Referred to the time spent as a woman as her, probably to make things easier. There was a way to broach this, Spy didn’t seem drunk enough, and he carried a high tolerance for someone so slim.

                “You mean how people seem to forget that black Scotsmen exist?” Demo asks.

                “Exactly that! Though, my friend… Ah. I need to apologize to him.” Spy says.

                “Ain’t gonna give me a name to mentally call him? You keep flipping between the guy’s gender, I’m starting to get confused.” Demo says.

                “Eccentric. That’s his code name. He _hates_ it, but couldn’t let the name go after a while.” Spy says.

                A man named Eccentric was what Spy called his friend… Well, Spy could probably call a couple people in BLU a friend, but Demo doubted he was one.

                “You actually remind me of him a great deal.” Spy says.

                “How so?” Demo asks, “I figured he’d be like you, some dashing rogue.”

                “Eccentric would never describe himself as pretty. Maybe glorious, and when he could, he wouldn’t hide the fact he’s Turkish…” Spy starts, “Ah, he’s a passable Spy, a better sniper before his dominant eye weakened, but best at planning on a whim. Gotten us into, and out of trouble more times than I can count.”

                Ah, explains a great deal about Spy, with what company he used to keep. Demo knew that friends brought a great deal of trouble in this line of work… But this sounded like someone Spy cared about. He considered Spy to be his friend, and friends… well, they talked.

                “What happened between the both of ye?” he asks.

                “Maybe when I’m drunker.” Spy says.

                Back to the casual chatting, not that Demo minded.  
                Spy likes a raunchy satirical play called ‘Tirésias’ Breasts.’ Said he took a great deal of inspiration from it. The fact it was a banned play in his household, as was the original that inspired the satire, made it funnier. He was set to mention something about a name, but he draws himself in, ending that conversation. The conversation was weird to begin with, especially the few scenes that Spy could recall with accuracy.  
                The two get into a heated discussion on European politics. Fuck the Tories was Demo’s general disposition. Spy mentioned he feared a couple of nationalist parties would unite in France. He stated the moment it happened, he considered forfeiting his citizenship.  
                Demo noticed the way Spy rubbed his arm. Nothing is brought up, and Spy probably appreciates it. Demo has seen the arm before, it’s a scarred mess. But, bits of what looked to be a tattoo remained. Spy always leaves whenever someone asks about it, Demo does not doubt the same would happen if he asks.  
                And then Spy whistles a couple tunes. Takes another drink before Spy puts words to the tune. One Demo recognized: Knights of the Round Table. The next one, had to have been regional. Spy eventually says that people call the song Ricard based on the popular drink.

                The strange stories started coming out at some point:  
                the illegal taxicab operation he was part of post-World War II,  
                the illegal hookah longue he operated in Spain,  
                the illegal tea longue that was connected to the hookah longue also had separate stories,  
                the illegal… makeup store. As well as the legal makeup store. And the other illegal makeup store. Spy mentioned five places with the word ‘makeup’ and Demo honestly blended them all together, he’d have to get some sort of clarification when Less Drunk.

                Honestly, Demo was a bit impressed when he mentioned the ‘legitimate’ jobs he had (waiter, toymaker, woodcarver, metal carver, just all kinds of stuff relating to carving). One brief mention of a brothel made him go silent.

                “Ain’t no shame in it.” Demo says.

                “I… it was difficult.” Spy says, “Even with my companion, we often done things alone. Risks were high, money vanished, and morals leave when things are desperate.”

                “Not sure anyone would fault ye.” Demo says, “You must have been in the thick of it, France and the war. Without getting into things that are clearly off limits.”

                Spy offered no response, somber as he’s swirling his glass. They’re both drunk, Demo has a hard time keeping himself from drinking more. He’d become his usual slurred mess, and this wouldn’t be what Spy needs.  
                He reaches into his jacket, pulling out his disguise kit. Demo recalled him mentioning no more smokes, wondered if he was going to- Wait. That’s not how the cloaking works, that’s the watch.  
                A photograph…?

                “This is what he gave me. I didn’t want to know but… I appreciate it. I suppose.” he says.

                He put the photograph down, shoving it away from him. Demo takes it before Spy can change his mind, squinting so he can catch some details in the dark.  
                A woman, she’s a couple years younger than Scout it looks like. Long black hair in fishtail braids, green eyes. No smile, she holds a haughty glare, probably hates whoever took her photo.  
                Seemed she was in a ballet performance or a mockup: gaudy makeup, flowing gown, and red ballet shoes. Up on the tips of her toes, one hand against the skirt of her dress, and the other helped exaggerate the tilt of her head with her wrist at her neck.

                “ _Le Spectre de la rose_ was the performance. Not sure why she was frowning.” Spy offered.

                A lot of details escape Demo, but he focused on her nose. A bit bird like, though not quite as exaggerated as the Spy’s. Though her frown…

                “Face looks like yours, frowns like you do.” Demo says.

                “Teresa.” Spy says, “I… had to give her away.”

                He takes the photograph back, putting it away in the disguise kit, ending the conversation.

                Demo moves so that he sits closer to the Spy, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. He half expected the Spy to push him away, or curse, but instead he sighs, accepting the gesture.  
                Demo understood, Scout talked about Father’s Day recently. That must be what has Spy on edge.

                “I think it’s my turn for some sharing.” Demo says.

                Spy’s lips twitch in response, the way he acts when he’s trying to avoid a laugh. Demo finds a snake wine and Indian whiskey he’s wanted to try, and somehow Spy’s mood is palatable enough to join in.

                And, as promised, Demo talks a great deal about himself. Many are stories that Spy parrots back (apparently Demo mentioned the “Blowing up that monster plantation in the South with two sweet ladies” more than once). Then Spy parrots in French, and that was fun trying to translate. Demo knew a couple words, knew a dialectal French because a couple family members live comfortably in Bayou Lafourche, and he only knew enough to recall Spy reciting the Three Hills incident.

                Things get weird.  
                Demo recalled mentioning the ice cream dare. Spy mentioned… something.  
                Something of significance. It made him laugh, almost enough to piss himself.

                Eventually they went to bed.  
                He thinks.

                Then it’s morning. Battle day. Demo rises up from the couch and an assortment of flaccid dicks fall off his body.     
                What the bloody hell…

                “Scout!” Demo hears, noticing the Australian accent.

                “Who the fuck left dicks everywhere?” Scout asks.

                There’s so many everywhere. All of them flaccid, but that’s about all the similarities they had. And while the resident troublemaker was already receiving blame, Demo knew exactly who was at fault.

                He remembered a conversation.

                _“Aye mate, what kind of shipment did you get?” Demo asked._

_“Packers. That right there.” Spy said, pointing to the flaccid dick, “I gotten an excessive amount. I think about five hundred? I think that’s the number in English.”_

He remembers asking Spy what he would do with them. Couldn’t return them, silicone is picky but while the Engineer could probably repurpose them for something useful, it would be a bitch to explain why Spy gotten the shipment. It was far too specific of a product to reasonably explain that it was a ‘mix-up.’  
                Then Demo had an idea.

                _“Well, you can’t use it. Why not just, hide them everywhere? People would think Scout did it.” Demo said._

_“People would be more likely to think that I did it.” Spy said, “because you are the one daring me.”_

_“How about for one of those ice cream bars Scout has?” Demo offered._

                He’s not sure why, but he recalled Spy laughing and saying it was not the worst thing he received in a dare. There was more, but Spy had to say it in French.


	2. The Drunk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess warning for puking and dicks (in a non-sexual way) everywhere?  
> But I mean the packers was explicit.

                Out of all the things Demo was debating on, it was the fact that everyone was complaining about dicks. A group full of men (sans Pyro and himself) were pissed about the flaccid dicks. The packers.  
                Hang on, where’s Spy?  
                The Snake is somewhere…

                “Who the hell gets all these stupid flaccid dicks and just… toss them around?” Scout asks.

                Heavy noted that he had an assortment of ones of questionable size put in his room. He brought one out, answering the silent ‘what does he mean questionable.’ Sniper commented it was the size of a horses’ cock, nobody questions it.  
                Medic was slightly amused he gotten all the ones with foreskin. Still relatively confused over the matter, but he was taking it better than everyone else was.  
                Sniper eventually clarified he was more pissed at the fact he tripped on a couple dicks in his van, and thought Scout broke into it. Though seems he was having doubts…

                Everyone (sans Pyro and himself) were starting to connect the dots.

                “Where’s Spy?” Engineer asks.

                There’s a groan. From the rafters.  
                No one is entirely sure how he got up there. Nor how he got a tarp held up with ropes up there. Nor how he’s somehow still asleep, laying against one of the beams. From what everyone has seen so far, they are sure the tarp holds more packers.  
                Demo was more interested in finding out how Spy managed to dress himself in cleaner clothes.

                “Wanker.” Sniper says, “Truckie, do you have a rubber band?”

                Demo knew this was going to be a bad idea. A man that didn’t let himself fall asleep around anyone was libel to have similar spells Sniper had when rudely awakened. But talking a group of pissed mercs out of a bad idea sounded like effort. He was far too hungover to stop Sniper. Besides, he doubted Sniper could do it. Spy was about the length of a telephone pole away, and he was shooting up. With a rubber band.

                Somehow, the bastard managed to get Spy in the nose. He wakes up with a start, like Demo expected. And he slashes his butterfly knife, much in the way Sniper slashes his kukri.

                “ _Putain! Encule! Brûle en l’enfer Ignasi!_ _C'est ta faute!_ ”

                Spy slashes one more time, getting the rope of the tarp over them.  
                It’s worse than anyone expected. Sure, an assortment of dicks fell from the tarp. Glitter did too. That erased any kind of doubt that Scout did any of this, Spy pulled an interesting laundry prank on the RED team. With blue colored glitter.  
                Seemed he had a supply left over, and a fine blue powder fell all over the recreational and dining area. Demo accepted this as perhaps one of the strangest acts of drunken antics he has witnessed.  
                Everyone was covered in glitter, considering the cloud that all the bouncing packers made. It would take a long time to clean this mess up…

                “ _Quoi_.” Spy says.

                And Spy must be drunk still, considering he has yet to speak English.

                “I… Spy. I’m more than a might surprised at you.” Engineer says.

                “ _Pourquoi?_ ” Spy asks.

                Still French. Sniper’s response was to snag another rubber band, aiming it at Spy again. He hit the snake in the leg, getting a yelp. As Spy attempts to shout at Sniper, he loses whatever sort of balance he had, falling to the ground. A loud crunch noise let them know he probably broke his arm, given how he twisted himself.  
                Medic sighs, carefully stepping through the mess. He doesn’t have his medigun, but he does have a quick syringe that he uses in emergencies like this.

                “Dummkopf.” Medic says.

                Unfortunately for Spy, the medicine does not help treat drunkenness. Nor hangovers. Enough accidents and incidents with alcohol have taught Demo that. Engineer’s Dispenser and Medic’s medigun does help, but only some of the symptoms.

                “Eugh. Thank you doctor.” Spy says.

                “The team thanks you, for making our kitchen and food ruined. Considering all this… mess.” Medic says.

                Medic half drags Spy through the ground, everyone hearing how he comments on his precious suit, and it only serves to make most people upset. Demo hardly cared, what’s done is done. Pyro is sitting in a pile, scooping it together and rubbing it on themselves.  
                Well, they’re happy.  
                Medic deposits Spy onto the couch by Demo, silently glaring at him as if he partially blames the Scotsman for what Spy did. Though, he never verbalizes his comment. Everyone else… attempts to navigate their way through the ruined kitchen. Spy leans his head against Demo, groaning some sort of complaint he cannot get to words.

                “Never thought you were the type to do this.” Demo says.

                “And I continue to surprise everyone.” Spy says, “Why is it shining blue?”

                “That’s glitter. From a trap. Remember the logic you had when you were setting it up?” Demo asks.

                “All I can recall was Pyro. I think I had the Pyrovision goggles while drunk.” Spy says.

                It sounded like an honest answer, though Demo highly doubted that was the truth. He recalls telling everyone the images horrified him when he was a drunken mess. Why would _Spy_ of all people wear the goggles while drunk?

                “So. Ready for hangover cures?” Demo asks.

                “Yes, my head is splitting. Though, what do you use?” Spy says.

                Pickle juice. Coconut water. Coca-Cola, that soda that comes from some region in the South that Engie swears as a cure all for all sorts of ails. Depends on what Demo is in the mood for. Then running out to exercise helped significantly, but after having something on the stomach.  
                Everyone was getting in a mood, and were probably blaming Demo as being an enabler. Well, he saw Heavy get out the last of the pickles and leaving a jar full of juice. He sets Spy back in the seat, hearing his groan in complaint and takes the jar.  
                He takes a drink first, not particularly minding the taste. Giving it to Spy…

                Well, he didn’t seem to know what he had, until after he drank it. The reaction was almost instant, he drops the jar, spilling the remaining juice around the couch, and he runs for the nearest trashcan.

                “I was going to finish that.” Demo says.

                Spy responds with a crude gesture, still occupied with the can. Scout ends up next to Demo, nibbling on one of his ice cream bars.

                “Never thought I would see Spy like that… guess you weren’t in on his stunt?” Scout asks.

                “Might’ve convinced him it was a good idea, but I draw the line at glitter.” Demo says.

                Scout shoves a wrapped package into his hand, running off and saying something about getting his morning run in. Demo counts to three, and watches Sniper run after him going on about….  
                Something. Bastard was using Australian slang he still didn’t quite understand, more because all the Scottish slang he knows makes the meaning… off.

                Just when Demo goes to see what Scout gave him, it’s snatched from his hand. Spy unwraps the package, showing the ice cream bar that Scout eats. He takes one bite, and cringes.

                “Cheap. Chocolate.” He says, taking another bite.

                “Then why are you still eating it?” Demo asks.

                “To get the pickle taste out of my mouth. And, I like soft serve ice cream.” He replies.

                So many things Demo wanted to ask. Never pegged Spy to enjoy sweets. This act of drunkenness goes beyond what Demo anticipates either Spy would consider reasonable. Eh, who was he kidding, he more of wanted to know how Spy did it while drunk. His own depth perception is terrible, but everyone loses a great deal of depth perception when drunk.  
                Depending on how battle goes, maybe he’ll be able to catch Spy off guard.  
                He knew one thing: Spy’s magic number was five hundred packers. Demo did not see anywhere close to five hundred. There’s bound to be more surprises on the field.

* * *

                Match started as well as anyone expected. Everyone was in a slightly better mood when they discovered the enemy team was also covered in glitter. Especially the RED Spy, who looked as though he had a miserable experience. Meant that RED intentionally went after his counterpart, shouting an assortment of curses in a variety of languages.  
                Demo usually has a slow start, but once he started exercising (and drinking for battle), he was fit to challenge everyone.  
                But no one expected the traps.

                Okay, some were definitely traps. Packers piled in a way that they would surprise whoever went through the wrong passage. Some looked like they were… art. Abstract art, Demo could figure out one of the shapes was indeed a woman, but art all the same.  
                How the bloody hell did he have that much time to make art?  
                Well, must have taken almost the entire night, given Spy… was dying. A lot, a great deal more than what anyone expected. Demo didn’t have a chance to chat with him, considering how often he gotten tossed into respawn.  
                Eventually, despite all the sunshine, it starts to rain. Happened in spurts, but it rained. Made the battlefield sparkle even more, and all those packers…

                “I swear both the Spies done lost their mind!” Engineer said.

                Demo was leaning against the Dispenser, taking the time to catch his breath, heal his aching head, and close up a couple superficial wounds. He was listening to Engineer’s story.

                “So RED’s been focused on Spy, given what the varmint did to him… well, can’t say I blame the fella.” Engineer says, “But, he finally worked up to paying me a small visit. Already got my sentry sapped, and he was working towards the Dispenser. Then it starts raining. He stops, looks up in the sky, almost as if he never seen it before.”

                It’s just rain, Demo didn’t quite understand the fascination.

                “So the Snake likes rain, I don’t see what makes him more off his head than what he’s already at.” Demo says.

                “It ain’t him stopping, it’s him saying, ‘Great, I have glitter on my suit, and the devil beats his wife with a frying pan too.’” Engie says.

                What.

                “… Laddie, you sure that’s what you heard?” Demo asks.

                “Why would I lie about this?” Engie asks, “I get the phrase is… weird. I don’t use it all that often. Not that the explanation is all that better, since uh, sure many men here are fairly Godless. No offense.”

                Demo shrugs, listening to the explanation. Seems that many parts of the South are so religious that they think all sorts of things tie back to God and the Devil. Engie always learned it was the devil being angry at a beautiful day, but he said that sometimes people think of it as a battle between angels and demons.

                “In France, you can hear what is essentially ‘the devil is beating his wife and marrying his daughter,’ though what I call this phenomena in English is ‘the wolf’s wedding.’” Spy says.

                He decloaks, leaning on top of the Dispenser, seeming ready to pass out.

                “But he said it in English.” Engie says.

                “Yes.” Spy says, “Though I recall hearing about frying pans but nothing about marrying daughters.”

                Demo still can hardly believe it, poking Spy’s shoulder.

                “How’d you manage all this while drunk off your arse?” Demo asks.

                “Practice.” Spy says.

                Spy offers no more responses, no matter who attempts to prod him. Engie lets it go, returning to his sentry to maintain the device. Demo reloads all his ammo, giving a triumphant yell as he dashes back to battle.  
                But very few people seemed to have their heart in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what I heard you can use Coca-Cola for?  
> clears you acne! eat it with saltines, cures a stomach ache! CLEAN YOUR FUCKING TOILET WITH IT.  
> And apparently cure a hangover but I don't suggest that.  
> Odd Southern phrases I hear my grannies and aunties say go! (I call them rainshines)  
> One. More. Chapter.

**Author's Note:**

> (this is my third "just three chapters" fic that I am gonna have an existential crisis about. But I actually planned this one out with an outline so let's see how this goes.)  
> I think this is the silliest thing I have written and it pushes many comfort zones.  
> here's hoping that people who have drank understand what I'm going at (then again, I play trivia at a gaming bar so I probably have a different point of reference)  
> (also I should probably stop being amused with Locke Lamora, because I don't even think Spy would like the Gentlemen Bastards series. I hope to have the next chapter up soonish and for FTWOAN)  
> and yes, I won't fault y'all if y'all want to see this as Demo/Spy but uh, more of trying to set up Demo/Sniper. Maybe next time I'll do a true Demo/Spy.  
> (answer for the raccoons: they can get drunk on alcohol, but they more than likely seek fermented fruit)  
> Find me on twitter @morpheusememori  
> find me on tumblr: writing- morpheusenmemori  
> general- prince-darkleboop


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